


Sing in the Morning

by moonlighten



Series: Feel the Fear [48]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlighten/pseuds/moonlighten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August, 2009: Tonight will be Prussia and Canada's second date. Or maybe their first. Canada still isn't sure whether or not the other one counted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for exorcistor.

**15th August, 2009; Ottawa, Canada**   
  
  
**14:00**

  
  
Canada had meant to start cleaning earlier, but an unscheduled lie-in had eaten up most of the morning, and the consequentially late breakfast took care of the rest. Nevertheless, he still has five hours.  
  
Upon withdrawing to the kitchen door so he can survey the full sweep of the living room, however, he's not sure that it's enough time.  
  
His meetings had run late all week, and by the time he'd gotten home, he'd lacked the energy to manage even the most rudimentary of housekeeping tasks. Important documents have settled like a layer of snow across every flat surface, broken at random intervals by small islands formed by half-read books, dirty plates and discarded ties and jackets. It looks like an extremely localised tornado has swept through the room, leaving nothing chaos and destruction in its wake, and he can't even begin to think how best to start bringing order to it.  
  
Eventually, he decides that a good first step would be to make a full strategic retreat into the kitchen in order to drink another cup of coffee which should chase the last dregs of sleep from his mind and hopefully clear it sufficiently that he can devise an effective plan of action.  


 

* * *

  
  
**15:30**

  
  
Canada wastes a lot of his limited time staring at his bed, contemplating changing his bedcovers.  
  
On the one hand, it's simply part and parcel of the thorough sanitisation he's performing on his house, even though they were last changed only the day before, but on the other, he can't quite shake the feeling that he's being a little presumptuous, given that tonight will be only his second date with Prussia.  
  
Or maybe it's their first, because Canada isn't sure that the other one actually counted as a date. Sure, they'd gone to a bar (albeit along with all the other G-8 member nations after a meeting), and Canada had bought Prussia a drink and Prussia (after a little prodding) had bought Canada one in return, but beyond the offer and acceptance of drinks, they'd barely spoken to each other besides. Prussia had spent most of the night with Germany and the Italies, while Canada was trapped trying to play peacemaker when a rather vicious argument sprang up between France, America, and England, as seemed to be his lot in life on most occasions when the four of them were together.    
  
Added to which, to date, the extent of their physical contact beyond the hair ruffles Prussia still insists on subjecting Canada to every time they meet consists of one horribly mistimed kiss at the end of the night outside Prussia's hotel room door. Canada presumably hadn't signalled his intentions clearly enough, and Prussia had turned his head at exactly the wrong moment, causing the kiss to land somewhere in the vicinity of Prussia's ear, and the corner of Canada's glasses to land squarely in Prussia's eye. The resulting torrent of emphatic German curses on Prussia's part, and increasingly abject apologies on Canada's had evidently caused enough of a ruckus that it sent Germany flying out of his own room, wild-eyed and half-dressed, obviously thinking he was needed to break up a fight.  
  
Over a month later, the memory still makes Canada feel like he wants to sink into the floor and disappear, and he doubts that Prussia is any more eager for a repeat performance. He upgrades presumptuous to deluded, and resolves to leave the bedclothes.

 

* * *

  
  
**16:45**   


The discovery that he is arranging the bottles in his bathroom chromatically to form some sort of bizarre hygiene product rainbow snaps Canada out of the cleaning-induced trance he had apparently slipped into unaware.  
  
He knows he's getting a little carried away, because it's doubtful that an imperfectly ordered shelf will manage to scare Prussia off completely when almost having his eye poked out didn't, but the thought does little to quell the nervous flutter that had taken up residence behind Canada's ribcage from the instant he awoke that afternoon.  
  
Although this particular date had been Prussia's idea, Canada can't quite shake the feeling that he's far more invested in this – relationship? Canada's reluctant to use the word even in his own mind – than Prussia is. He'd certainly seemed a little unenthusiastic about the prospect of their first one, and Canada still suspects that France had a hand in his eventual acceptance, although France strenuously denies the accusation every time its raised.  
  
Nevertheless, there's still a large part of him that hasn't yet gotten over the shock of Prussia actually saying yes. Even after two hundred years of wondering and longing – and a hundred and fifty or so of good old-fashioned lusting – he'd not really managed to prepare himself for that eventuality. And the reality of it is that, despite what ridiculous fancies his imagination might, perhaps, have dreamt up over the centuries, he barely even knows the other nation, and has no idea how to ease any doubts Prussia might have.  
  
Because no amount of worrying beforehand will change that fundamental fact one iota, he forces himself to hold to the courage of his convictions, and very deliberately puts the green bottle he's holding down between two red ones.  


 

* * *

  
**18:00**   


The anxiety resurfaces full force as he's putting the finishing touches on his now sparklingly clean living room.  
  
Beyond the initial proposal that they should spend an evening together while he and his brother were visiting Canada's country, Prussia had been remarkably unhelpful about what he might prefer it entail. All of Canada's suggestions were met with equal indifference, and, in the end, he'd decided on movies and beers at his house simply because it seemed the easiest to arrange.  
  
Even that decision brought with it a whole host of new uncertainties. He'd managed to catch up with Prussia in between meetings and pick his brain about some of them, but his answers had hardly inspired Canada with any confidence that their date might run smoothly: Snacks? (no preference, but maple syrup should definitely make an appearance somewhere); Beer? (again, no real preference, but Canada had gotten the impression that German would be appreciated and he'd likely get American poured over his head for his troubles); Movies? ('No sappy shit', which was slightly more informative, but the possibility that he and Prussia had widely different ideas of what constituted 'sappy shit' still remained).  
  
Left with so many options and so many opportunities to get things wrong, Canada had overcompensated with both the drinks and snacks, buying so many different types and brands that he's sure he'll be consuming the inevitable leftovers for many months to come. The choice of movies had proved slightly easier, given that he'd already narrowed the genre down to horror as it had the least likelihood of containing the faintest whiff of sappiness. They were actually both movies he'd seen before and knew were decent, but as his viewing partner at the time had been America, he actually quite relished the chance to watch them again without piercing shrieks of alarm and pleas to turn on the lights drowning out half of the dialogue.  


 

* * *

  
**18:55**   


Casting one last contemplative glance over the living room, Canada determines that it's too neat and tidy, and strews a few books and magazines here and there in an effort to disguise the fact that he had spent his entire day cleaning.  


* * *

  
**19:30**   


Prussia has edged past fashionably late into thought-better-of-it territory.  
  
Canada tries to distract himself from settling pessimistically on the latter conclusion by imagining everything that might have transpired to delay him – a meeting overrunning, losing the directions Canada gave him, being abducted by aliens – instead. It's not particularly effective, however, and, little by little as the minutes tick remorselessly by, he resigns himself to the fact that he's more than likely been stood up.      
  
There is, at least, a shred of cold comfort in knowing that it could have been worse; if he'd not gone with easy, he might well be somewhere being publicly humiliated right now, rather than being humiliated in the privacy of his own home.  


 

* * *

  
**19:47**   


Canada has resigned himself so well that he barely even registers the sound of the doorbell ringing until its tempo changes from a brisk staccato to a prolonged blaring which suggests that his visitor has grown tired of courteously tapping the button and waiting for a response before trying again, and is simply pressing down on it as hard as they can.  
  
Prussia scowls at him once he does eventually realise and answer the door, and Canada finds himself apologising, as though waiting on someone's doorstep for what could only be a minute or two was in actuality a greater offence than turning up almost an hour late to a date and leading another someone to make the natural conclusion that they'd most probably been dumped.  
  
The scowl slowly fades from Prussia's face, and he bends down quickly to pick something up from the ground by his feet. "These are for you," he says as he straightens up, thrusting a bunch of flowers into Canada's hand.  
  
They look a little worse for wear, petals browning at the edges, and their wrapping is crinkled and ripped in a pattern which suggests that they have been held very, very tightly for quite some time. Canada isn't sure what to say, because he hadn't thought to expect a gift, and, even if he had, he certainly wouldn't have expected flowers. He's not ungrateful, just surprised enough that the silence extends far beyond the bounds of politeness before he finally manages to stammer out: "Thank you."  
  
Prussia nods once, then crouches again to pull a bottle of wine, box of chocolates and six pack of beer out of the bag the flowers had been lying next to. The last proves to be a problem, as Canada has run out of hands to take it with. After an awkward moment of fumbling, Prussia seems to concede that he can't make it balance on top of everything else Canada's already holding, and settles for carrying it himself as he steps over the door's threshold.  
  
The flowers were unexpected but manageable, but, put together with everything else, it adds up to something for which another "Thank you," seems wholly inadequate. Canada’s subsequent struggle to come up with the right words must be obvious, because Prussia shuffles his feet, clears his throat, and supplies, "West said I should bring all that crap. He's been reading stuff again."    
  
Canada's not entirely sure what 'stuff' Prussia's referring to, but considering the context, he would hazard the guess that it was some sort of dating advice. Given his meticulous attention to detail, it makes sense that it was something Germany would want to research, if only to make sure that there weren't any glaring differences in that particular practise between their two countries that would lead to his brother to commit an egregious faux pas.  
  
His reading obviously hadn't been quite thorough enough, however. Canada thanks Prussia again, but takes care to point out that he should perhaps let his brother know that whatever he'd read had probably been offering a range of suggestions rather than a list that needed to be fulfilled.  
  
"I know that, but West insisted," Prussia says, but something about the slightly forced quality of the laughter that follows the words suggests to Canada that perhaps Prussia had been floundering just as much as his brother.  
  
That assumption should also surprise him, he supposes, but it doesn't. He'd deduced that Prussia was the fuck them and leave them type – a thought which had alternately terrified and exhilarated him when he was younger – many years ago, and thus the possibility that he'd never had to concern himself with such trivialities as considering what might constitute a suitable gift to bring to a second (or first?) date was hardly a novel idea.


End file.
